Chiormy Oriol
by RedShocktrooper
Summary: It began as an average, quiet day in Bruhl, though the tranquility was soon shattered. Now, Isara Gunther must face a new, extremely advanced enemy who's broken the cutting edge. R/R
1. Enter the Oriol

**I do not own the characters, vehicles, or weapons depicted herein. Those belong to Sega, Degtyarev Plant, and various other respectful manufacturers and creators.**

---

Welkin found himself happily strolling along the path, looking at the town of Bruhl. Many years had passed, though the town itself had changed little, if at all. While people came went – his daughter, Isara, among them, when she headed off to Randgriz for a higher education, oddly enough not in the professions of either parent, but as part of a new ROTC program. It wasn't that it bothered him too much – while he'd prefer that she find something other than the military, she was her own person – he didn't let it, since he compared it to birds leaving the nest of their mother.

Further up the road, his wife was busy with what could be called either her hobby or her job – he personally considered it to be a mix of the two. A calm, motherly smile and a sweet voice asking that the person to 'come back soon' was almost as much of a guarantee of their return as the high quality of her baking. He'd fortunately gotten lucky, as no-one was buying anything at the moment.

A slight smile on his face, he came up to the bakery-on-wheels' counter, and rang the bell. Alicia instinctively turned, thinking him another customer, though she soon found otherwise. Her default smile, the one used for customers, turned into a more genuine smile. The baker hopped out of the truck's back, and joined her husband in the streets.

Over the inevitable course of time, some of her hair had turned a shade of silvery gray – not unlike at a particularly rare time, many years ago. That wasn't what Welkin focused on, though. Rather, a young boy, looking a considerable bit like his father, also hopped out of the vehicle, and ran up to his father.

"Stephan! I assume you were good for your mother?" Welkin grabbed the boy in his arms.

"Of course he was – he was quiet as he always is." Alicia smiled slightly, towards the aged father holding his young son.

"Steph... you're heavy, you know that?" Welkin was strained slightly by the weight of his son – by no means was he as young as when Isara was the age Stephan was.

Before the boy could offer an answer, he was distracted. A low-pitched grumbling, whining sound was coming from the other side of the town gate. His father and mother were equally distracted – it wasn't every day that such a sound was made. The foreign noise grew louder and softer, until, eventually, its source burst through the gate.

It was a machine unlike any Welkin or Alicia had ever seen – while its basic features were those standard to any tank, it was large enough to seemingly rival the Lupus, as the Chiormy Oriol rolled forward, grinding over the torn remains of the gate, splinters breaking off beneath the weight of the 56-ton monster.

The Oriol stopped in the square, revealing a tail formed by lesser T-80 and T-72 tanks. Though, all of these vehicles were foreign to the people who looked at them in awe, the plates of explosive reactive armor scaring some, while the strange markings – on all the vehicles, a red star adorned the turret and side skirts – confused others.

Welkin placed Stephan on the ground, the boy simply stared in total awe at the machines, which towered many meters over him. Alicia's instincts as mother instantly snatched the child up, though his eyes remained locked on the lead tank, the Chiormy Oriol.

"Mama... what are those?" he questioned, his voice filled with childish innocence.

"Those..." the sight of the massive vehicles would have been strange even if they had been Gallian tanks. "Those... are tanks."

"Put me down, Mama! I want to see it closer!" Stephan wriggled in his mother's arms, attempting to free himself from her grip.

"You can see it fine, Steph."

Grunting defeatedly, Stephan kept looking at the Chiormy Oriol, his eyes looking over the tank's sloped armor, contrasting with the elliptical turrets of the other tanks.

"They look..." Stephan tried to find a word to convey his interest in the heavy vehicles. His eyes were drawn to a picture of a black eagle on the turret of the lead tank.

"Get Stephan out of here," Welkin said in a commanding tone, one he hadn't used since the Imperial invasion. He turned back to the tanks, and said to himself, "If anyone will break the silence now, it's me."

He took a step towards the column of tanks, followed shortly thereafter by a second. With each step, he could make out new markings and slogans written upon the ERA plates. Eventually, though, he came too close to the tanks for the comfort of the men inside – a warning shot was fired at his feet from one of the automated guns atop a T-72, followed shortly by a call from within one of the vehicles, a thickly accented voice ordering him to halt. Smaller tanks rolled up behind the larger ones, and the smaller tanks offloaded a horde of infantry, with weapons that resembled the T-MAGs he's given some shocktroopers during EWII. Others had what looked like small lances on their backs, and others still had seeming sniper rifle versions of the guns.

Two of the lancers – armed with Saiga-12 shotguns – directed the weapons at Welkin, and began shouting in an unknown language.

"Who are you? What do you wa-?" Welkin grunted as the stock of the shotgun was brought down atop his head, the force knocking him off his feet.

Alicia had already, and quickly, started walking Stephan away, out of the square, though she looked back in time to watch the butt of the shotgun get brought down on Welkin's head. She gasped, but did as he had commanded – she kept leading Stephan away from the tanks.

"Mama, I want to keep looking at the tanks!" the boy said, a slight whining tone in his voice.

"I... know, Steph, but..." she quickly tried to think of something, but was interrupted when the boy's voice again spoke.

"What are those men doing to Dad?"

Alicia looked over at the men, and Welkin. They both had the weapons trained on him, and he appeared to be attempting to fend them off. She quickly attempted to turn Stephan's eyes from his father, when the sudden splash of red scattered across the cobblestone.

Panic erupted when the shots were fired, and at that moment, the Chiormy Oriol, and the tanks which had followed it, opened fire upon the civilians of Bruhl, the rattling of the machine guns and AEK-973 assault rifles shattering the tranquility of both the town and countryside. Occasionally, a thunderous boom would be heard – the sound of the large guns of a tank firing.

Running with Stephan on the ground was slowing her – she quickly picked her son up, though this placed some strain on an aging back. The first thing she needed to do was to find something – or someone – that would take them to Randgriz, the current home of their daughter.

"Mama, where are we going?" Stephan's voice asked, loud enough to be heard over the rattling and miniature thunderclaps.

"We're... going to visit Isara!" Alicia attempted to put a happy face on the moment, for Stephan. "Doesn't that sound like fun?" A small amount of her actual panic

Stephan simply looked up at his mother, and clutched onto the apron she wore, and pressed his face against the soft material on her shoulder.

"Is Dad coming with? Sis would like that."

Alicia bit her lip, trying to find a way to explain it to him. "No... Dad's not coming."

---Randgriz Military Academy---

Isara giggled slightly, for two reasons. The first was, she didn't know what exactly to do. The second was that Dad would _kill_ her if she found out.

A small smile came to her lips, as she neared the lucky man. Only a few short millimeters stood between his lips and hers, when a gentle knock was heard, causing him to back off from atop her.

She grumbled – why did either of them even bother? Every time either her or Franz attempted to perform certain acts, something came along.

"I'll get it, Franz," she said calmly, as the son of Largo and Eleanor Potter released her from beneath him.

"Alright, Is. If you absolutely MUST," he responded, a somewhat amused smile appearing.

"Don't worry, Franz, it shouldn't take..." Isara was instantly silenced upon opening the door. "M-_MOM?!_"

As opposed to the clean, happy appearance she knew of her mother, a dirty, somewhat worried one stood in the doorway, younger brother in hand.

"Isara..." Alicia set Stephan down. "Something happened, and I'm not quite sure what."

---**Глава одно конца****-**--

**This is a crossover with... _something_. I don't exactly KNOW what.**

**Oddly enough, chappie laden with RL weapons – fairly recent ones, too. I personally place this fic at about 1950-60 EC, so obviously the... whatever they are, aren't Imperial. VC's world would probably be about at Leopard I_/_T-55 levels, so the likes of the Black Eagle and T-80 won't happen any time soon, as would the AEK-973.**

**Just wait until you see the Allies, though. Both M8's, and Leopard 2A5's!**


	2. Recon

**Don't expect to see the classic EWII Gallian Light Tank in this fic – it takes place a good twenty years after VC1's ending (with appropriate age increases and tech advancements). Europa is about at the level of the M48 Patton and late model T-55.**

---

Isara still could not believe what her mother had told her. Her father's death at the hands of an unknown man from an unknown origin, and her subsequent escape. Though, it was obvious that whoever it was wanted a fight. She'd provide one to the best of her abilities. Those abilities happened to include her Father's old tank, the Edelweiss, though it was even further modified to stay up-to-date with the rest of the Gallian arsenal. Lessons learned during EWII resulted in a change of plan for the Gallian military, one which she found herself supportive of. The light tanks of the prior years were traded for heavier tanks that could win a slug-out with their Imperial counterparts without contest – though, if the machines her mother described were to come in contact with these tanks, there wouldn't be any contest in the first place.

Looking at her mother, keeping her young brother contained (he'd seemingly developed a liking for tanks, which there were a lot of), Isara sighed. She was looking forward to going home for winter holiday and hearing of the latest 'conquests' made by her father – no doubt referring to the new, interesting insects he'd found. Though her career choices turned her into an officer with a promising future, she retained an interest in her father's now permanently unfinished studies.

A turn in the other direction brought her gaze to her direct commanding officer – Captain Aisha Neumann, who had dedicated her life since before even puberty to 'Military Thervith' – though, she was lax enough to allow light joking at her expense. Athide from the obviouth thpeach impediment, she was a commendable officer. The Captain looked over the report, with a degree of disbelief.

"Ith your mother thure that thith ith what thee thaw?" Captain Neumann asked, impediment as obvious as ever.

"Yes. And I don't think my mother would make this sort of thing up."

Aisha looked back down at the report, a grim face appearing. "I don't think that we'll be able to thtand up to thothe tankth that were dithcribed. The lighter oneth, yeth, but thothe heavier mathines, I doubt it. Thinthe we're not at war with them, yet, I want you to get a recon team together and thcout them out. Thee what they've got. Don't attack them unleth they attack you directly."

Isara snapped into a salute. "Yes, sir!"

"Oh, and one more thing – the Edelweith probably will be too loud and thlow, tho it hath to thtay. We'll provide you with a thmaller, quieter vehicle."

_There goes fire support_, Isara thought. "Yes, sir. A detachment of Scouts then, Sir?"

"That'th up to you, Lieutenant. Jutht get in and out ath quickly ath you can."

A nod of acknowledgment was all that was then required, as Isara made off for the armory, and to get up a small detachment of scouts.

---

Sometime Later, Isara emerged from the armory, tailed by four of her troops, and holding the most recent model of Gallian rifle, the M4, in her hands. She did a quick headcount, to make sure no-one had decided to back out at the last moment.

"Alright. This will be our first operation, as I have said before. Not a training exercise. We are to avoid engaging the enemy once we are in the target area – let me restate that. Do not engage. It is not our objective to destroy the enemy forces stationed in Bruhl, and combat is to be avoided if possible. Are there any questions?"

One hand raised. "Lieutenant Gunther? Quick question."

"Yes, Private Adler. Permission to speak."

"What happens if we can't avoid combat? If these guys are as big and bad as your mom said they'd be, we don't stand much of a chance."

Isara had prepared for such a question. "If combat cannot be avoided, then engaged as needed. Don't go looking for trouble. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" the detachment said in unison.

"Alright. Our Armored Car is waiting. It will be a few hours drive to Bruhl, but stay sharp. We don't know what else they have in store."

"Oh, come ON, Lieutenant, it's not like they have flying machines of death or anything. The Feds and Imps hardly have those."

"I didn't grant permission to speak, Durand."

It was quiet from there on out.

---

A sharp chopping sound was heard in the skies over Bruhl. The sound of rotor blades cutting through air, no doubt. Viktor Nikitin looked up to see a trio of Ka-50 Black Sharks pass over head, and a single Mi-24 Hind shortly thereafter, flying in a criss-cross patrol over the town and surrounding areas. He ducked inside the Black Eagle, and appeared moments later, holding an An-94, as issued to some vehicle crews. Hopping down from atop the tank, he held his weapon in a relaxed position – while there were members of the town watch either alive or uncaptured, it was unlikely they would be foolish enough to attempt to attack.

"Captain Nikitin! Sir!" an Infantry Lieutenant yelped, snapping into an instant salute, rigid as the walls around Red Square.

"At ease, Marchenko." Nikitin saluted back, causing his direct subordinate to relax. "How are things going?"

"All according to plan – the Watch isn't so much as firing a shot, I think we scared them off by just ramming down the gate. The rest are either dead or captured, and our Attack Helicopters are patrolling the area as we speak. No sign of WEJDF activity, either. They haven't caught on to our presence."

Viktor nodded. "Good... so how was your beloved Katyusha doing?"

"Oh, well, now that you mention it, I finally did it. She's expecting a bouncing baby boy in a few months. We're naming him Sergei."

"Planing ahead. The trademark of a good commander, Alekzander." Viktor chuckled slightly. "Though, why'd you have to go and name him after your grandfather?"

Alek grunted. "What? Would you have rather me named him 'Traktor?' My grandfather was a great man! Not everyone was fathered by the son of such a successful commander as he!"

"So it's genetic? You'll be outranking me in no-time, Alek. I can see it now – Alekzander Marchenko, Marshal of the Federation."

The two laughed. "One Marshal Marchenko is enough for history."

---

Isara looked up, spotting the flying machines. They appeared to mount heavy weaponry – Durand had already eaten his words. Between the shrubs the were using for cover, and the town itself, there was nothing but open ground. Streaks of blue from the uniforms would be easily spotted, but they had to get in and scout.

"Alright. Durand, Adler. You follow me. The rest of you, follow Potter." Isara's voice was as loud as it needed to be for the group to hear her. She was taking the two most troublesome ones – Eugene Durand and Frederich Adler often did mischief while on exercises, so she wanted to make sure that she could keep them in line.

She quickly motioned for the two men to follow her, quickly darting across the open ground before the helicopters came back. Quickly disappearing into an alleyway, where the machines couldn't see them, Isara held her Gallian M4 ready, in case anything came up that would threaten her small group of men. The whooping sound came by again, passing right over her. She held her breath – for what good it would do – as the machine passed over, the sound grew louder. Her breath flowed out, relieved of the short stint of stress from the machine, as the sound began to grow quieter. Hopefully, they hadn't been spotted.

She motioned for the two men to follow her, not acknowledging the somewhat lustful looks traveling down her figure. They began talking between each other about various, inappropriate things.

"Be quiet! Do you want them to hear us? Do you _really_ want your last conversation to be about doing THAT?"

"No, sir," the two men said quietly. They advanced down the alley further, slipping quietly deeper into Isara's hometown.

"I'd still tap it, Fritz," Eugene stated, a bit too loud for Isara's comfort.

"Shut up!" she quietly exclaimed. "Again, do you really want your last words to be, 'I'd tap that'?"

"Sorry, sir. I'll shut up now."

Isara grumbled quietly to herself. Of course, she should have seen this coming, since they WERE the most troublesome men in her platoon, and a combination of her rank and her appearance made her lusted after by a few other of the less scrupulous men. If she was a simple corporal, she wouldn't be having this problem.

They came to an opening in the alleyway, and looked out at the Mill Plaza. A large amount of the tanks her mother had described were parked around the mill – still surprisingly intact, contrasting with the wreckage of various lesser buildings around it. Looking around in more detail, she saw trucks moving in field artillery pieces – large ones, at that. Various infantrymen where also scattered around the area, holding their assault rifles in relaxed positions. One of the tanks, decorated with the caricature of a black eagle on the turret, caught her eye. This was presumably the commander's tank. It had a menacing appearance, looking like it could chew up the Edelweiss and spit it back out – though the tank had taken on larger, scarier foes with her father at the helm, Isara questioned if the tank could take on this machine sitting on the other side of the plaza.

She quickly jotted down notes on the enemy force's make-up. What looked like six-to-eight, possibly ten heavy tanks, four light tanks, five armored cars and three field guns – plus those machines overhead.

"Alright, we have what we need, now let's..." Isara turned to speak to Adler and Durand, but was met with not only near silence aside from the goboldygook the enemy was speaking, but also a lack of the trouble making riflemen she brought with. She set her hand over her eyes, turned to look out at the plaza, and opened her eyes as the two men began running out towards the enemy troops, screaming bloody murder and firing semi-randomly at the large force, which promptly cut them down.

_Agh... they've compromised us!_ She thought, quickly pulling back out in a swift jog. The fairly dumb motion by the two men had given her position away, and the Invader's equivalent of the scout was now running for her position with considerable speed.

She quickly ran over the pieces of broken brick and mortar, and various other articles of rubbish that littered the alleyway. The men behind her were yelling, probably telling her to stop where she was. Her feet carried her as fast as they could, before finally catching a hole in the ground.

The lieutenant shrieked as she tumbled, and quickly tried to get back to her feet. The pain in her ankle was an indicator of the damage done by the hole, though she would not easily be captured by the men. The only thing standing between her and the rest of her men was the open field.

As she stepped out into the open, she heard the whooping sound again, and looked up. The crocodile-like shape of a Hind was staring down at her, and the small gun on the bottom of it lining her up in its sights.

---End Chapter 2---


	3. WEJDF

The whooping sound prevented Isara from hearing anything else, and the wind created was almost enough to knock her over. Little bits of grass and small pebbles were kicked up, many stinging her skin. She was scared stiff by the sight of the helicopter's cannon leveled with her, as her short brown hair few about, blown by the rapid movement of air resulting from the Hind's rotor blades. There she stood, face to face with that of death, the crocodile-like shape of the machine threatening to reduce her to little more than a splatter of red on the ground.

She heard rattling sounds – undoubtedly, the sounds of her men opening fire upon the flying machine. Rounds pinged uselessly against the side, and some did strike the cockpit, only to be foiled by the Heli's natural resistance to small arms. The cannon on the bottom of the machine's nose was directed to her men – and to Franz – and a loud explosion was heard. Isara braced herself, expecting an explosive to land next to, if not on, her. She was momentarily bathed in an orange light, though the sound of rotor blades chopping through the air slowed down, and she looked up to see the now-tailless Hind spiraling uncontrollably downwards, crashing down into what was once someone's home, but now had the remains of the burning helicopter, and gallons of ignited aircraft fuel, thrust into it, creating a second sunset.

Natural curiosity took hold, and her eyes traced a trail of smoke down to the place a man stood – certainly, he wasn't a Gallian, for neither the weapon, or his uniform were those in service with the Military or the Militia – though, certainly, he belonged to a military unit. The casual flick of a burning cigarette, and the placing of a strange looking tube-lance of sorts onto his back, as two other such men – wielding equally strange looking rifles – stood beside him.

Before she knew what exactly was happening, Isara was in Franz's arms, being carried towards some sort of vehicle – not the Armored Car they had came in (for that had been found by the invaders and reduced to a pile of twisted metal), but rather a large, tank-like vehicle.

---

"Son of a... JDF! Agh, they've found us out!"

Nikitin grumbled to himself, before becoming part of the conversation. "Can you confirm that?"

An explosion – the Hind that was patrolling the town was crashing down. While he doubted that the Gallian scouting party had the firepower to knock down the Gunship, he knew readily of a faction that could – his personal sworn enemy, the oppressors from the West. Had they found out Russia's plans – of the Motherland's Device? No – such nonsense couldn't possibly be believed. Yet, there was no other explanation. Not unless the local version of the RPG, termed the Lance, was accurate enough to strike the hind from afar – which contradicted every bit of intelligence they had! There WAS no explanation! The Allies had arrived!

This, of course, distressed Viktor – the idea of the coalition of Ex-nations that had defeated Russia's armies in the European War would undoubtedly do so again.

No. He would not see it – Russia would rise again! Against all odds, he would see to it that the Allied force lay in ruin, or his name was not Viktor Nikitin!

---End Chapter 3---

**Yes, a bit short (only one page in OpenOffice Writer, discounting this A/N.) But I couldn't think of any way to advance it. Tomorrow being Friday, perhaps I can come up with some ideas.**


End file.
